


Memories that Scar

by JulisCaesar



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: (a little), Body Dysphoria, F/M, Scars, Trans Male Character, Transgender, post operation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post surgery, Ian isn't quite sure what to make of his body. Fortunately, that's what he has Barbara for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories that Scar

**Author's Note:**

> It was after midnight, I'd been studying for hours, and my chest was more present than usual. General disclaimer that not all trans folk go through this experience, that not everyone wants surgery or the scars, and that the process is going to be different for everyone.

The scars stretch four fingers above the base of his ribcage. There are two of them, one on each side, curved slightly upward, still an angry dark red and beginning to turn ropy.

“The Doctor apologized,” Ian says, staring at himself in the mirror.

Barbara nods, putting an arm around his back. “Why didn’t you have him take you somewhere else?”

Ian’s hands are restlessly opening and closing by his sides. “Wasn’t sure he could find it. He certainly can’t find Earth.” He laughs uncomfortably. They both know that last is a lie, that the Doctor would take them home the instant they want to. “I want them,” he adds, quietly. “A reminder.”

Barbara doesn’t say anything, but her fingers clench lightly on his side.

“He’ll try some place else when I’m ready for the rest of it.” Ian swallows. He’s not ready, not yet. Even this much is strange and terrifying. His old binder lies in the back of the dresser. He hasn’t worn it in weeks, not since the surgery.

“I knew,” Barbara says.

Ian stiffens and almost pulls away.

“You were so very not feminine. Always in fights with the headmaster. And the look on your face when he finally let you wear trousers—”

Even now Ian has to fight the smirk. “As long as the teachers _teach_ , why should he care?”

Barbara smiles. “I agree. I suspected then, but I knew—”

“When?” Ian asks, too curious to wait.

“When Susan called you Ian.”

Ian looks down. Susan had referred to him as male since the moment she walked into his classroom, leaving him exhilarated and terrified. He had immediately pulled her aside to ask her to call him Miss Chesterton, please, and she had given him the longest, most contemplative stare he had ever received from a fourteen year old before nodding. “I told her to stop.”

Barbara leans into him slightly. “She slipped up once with me. Blushed considerably.”

He can picture it, Susan stumbling over her words like she stumbles over her feet, Barbara’s shocked and hiding it expression, Susan turning red and covering her face with her hands. “You didn’t treat me any different.” He had told her not too long afterwards, when it was clear that Barbara's free time involved protests and that Susan couldn't keep a secret to save her life—ironic, now that he thought about it.

“Did you expect me to?” There’s a hint of something in her voice, but he’s staring at his flat chest again and not paying attention.

The scars will fade in time, and his nipples will never be as sensitive, but if he puts on a little more muscle he’ll look— _manly_. “I hoped you wouldn’t,” he says, staring with distaste at the curve of fat still sitting on his hips.

Barbara’s eyes flick to his hips as well, and then back up to meet his in the mirror. “You look wonderful.”

He frowns, reaching up a hand to touch one scar gently. It’s sensitive, no surprise, and he pulls away quickly. “This was a bad idea.” There’s no way now he could pass for female, the ship has been putting hormones in his food for weeks, and with the surgery—how is he supposed to ever go home like _this_?

“When you go to sleep, will you start by lying on your front, and then switch to your side, with that little frown that means you’re uncomfortable and can’t do anything about it?”

Ian blinks. “No.”

Somehow, Barbara manoeuvres his arm so it is around her shoulders. “Then it was a good idea.”

He looks at his chest in the mirror, and agrees with a strength that is surprising.


End file.
